


Younger

by not_whelmed_yet



Series: CyWhirl Week [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: But also, Corpse Desecration, Ficlet, Handmaiden & Feudal Lord dynamic, Loyalty, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Time Travel, Torture, Violence, yikes okay there's a tag for that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23410798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_whelmed_yet/pseuds/not_whelmed_yet
Summary: Whirl decides it would be easier to go back in time and witness Cyclonus’s past than get him to spill his secrets.
Relationships: Cyclonus/Tailgate/Whirl (Transformers), Cyclonus/Whirl (Transformers)
Series: CyWhirl Week [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684027
Comments: 34
Kudos: 52
Collections: Lynn's Flashfiction & Oneshots





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And I do declare this CyWhirl week, a time for much rejoicing and short ficlets! 🚁💙✈️
> 
> There are no prompts, because I have just arbitrarily declared this CyWhirl week with no prep whatsoever but I heartily welcome anyone who wants to write or draw a CyWhirl thing this week - ping me on twitter or tumblr if you do! (cywhirlgate is also welcome, of course 😊)
> 
> I'm playing with a new format to try to practice writing short fics: 3 scenes, one 250 words, one 500 words, one 1000 words. This one spilled outside those limits but! hopefully I'll get closer on the next one.
> 
> I wish you all joy and good health in these strange and anxious times 💙💙💙

“You can’t just say that and then not explain!”

Cyclonus smiled, glancing over at Whirl with mischief sparkling in his optics. Of course he could not explain. This was the mech who had once promised Whirl that “Nobody is telling anyone anything, ever.” He was the grandmaster of not telling people things.

“Why did you even say anything, then?” Whirl groaned. He crowded into the windowseat beside Cyclonus and caught his chin with one claw so Cyclonus couldn’t coyly look away. “You’d tell Tailgate if _he_ asked.”

“Tailgate would never,” Cyclonus said. “He’s from a time back when people had manners.”

“I would never!” Tailgate agreed. The fucking traitor. “Cyclonus doesn’t _like_ talking about his past. Except for the songs. He loves talking about the songs.”

“And the arts,” Cyclonus put in.

“Oh yes! And the architecture! All the good things in life,” Tailgate said happily, climbing in between them on the windowseat, treating Cyclonus’s chest like a pillow. He batted at Whirl’s claw until Whirl released their conjunx and settled down between them and the hot glass of the windowpane.

Cyclonus hummed thoughtfully. “It’s better to remember the good things.”

“Yes, yes, I agree and all but _blue_?”

“I wasn’t aware it was a scandalous color,” Cyclonus remarked, with a straight face because he was a _bastard_ who lived to torment the curious bots of the world and Whirl in particular.

“You huffed disapprovingly when I mentioned people swapping out their faceplates the other day. You have a legit scar on your leg, like a prehistoric urchin who’s never heard of a medic. And it’s not like you got a paint job - I’ve seen you with your arm torn off, you’re purple down to your base plating. Come ooooon, Cyclonus. I’m curious. It’s in my nature.”

“I think it’s better this way,” Tailgate said. “It’d look funny if we were a matched set. People would tease us. Just think of what Brainstorm would say - just awful! Plus, you’re so handsome in purple,” he said into Cyclonus’s chest, because his tiny frame belied what a massive flatterer he was.

“Do you really want to know?” Cyclonus asked.

“Yes.”

“Galvatron had me changed when I became his Warrior Second,” Cyclonus said, face suddenly serious. And aw, fuck it. Those were the magic words that unlocked the secret palace of ‘Whirl never getting to know anything about Cyclonus’s past’. Whirl didn’t even understand what a Warrior Second fucking _was_ , though Rewind and Nautica both promised him it was a translate for ‘bodyguard’ or ‘retainer’ in ancient texts. Not that he’d asked. Whirl would never snoop in Cyclonus’s secret palace of secrets.

“You know, sometimes I think it would be easier to ask Brainstorm to make me a time machine and check for myself than to get you to explain anything about where you come from,” Whirl said.

“That would be a terrible idea,” Cyclonus said.

“Does that mean you’ll explain?” Whirl asked.

“No.” Cyclonus leaned over and pressed a kiss to the side of Whirl’s face. “I love you, but no.”

* * *

“Brainstorm, if I asked nicely, would you make me a time machine?” Whirl asked. “Cyclonus refuses to tell me anything about his days before he was old and mysterious.”

Brainstorm raised his hand in a ‘please do not continue’ motion. “You really think it’s easier for me to build you a time machine than you to talk to your conjunx?”

“For sure.”

Brainstorm looked over at Perceptor, focused on his data analysis on the other side of the lab, then looked back at Whirl. “Yeah okay. But we’re not making more alternate timelines. Once was enough. Gonna need some sort of temporal lock so anything you splinter off vaporizes after the jump...hey, Percy! Want to go over some purely theoretical time machine plans?”

Perceptor looked at Whirl, then looked at Brainstorm, then back at Whirl. “You do know I can hear you, right? Even when you’re not talking to me?”

“Well Primus-damn-it you should have mentioned having a superpower at some point before now, Percy,” Brainstorm said. He scooted back on his lab stool until they were sitting side by side. “Come on, it’ll be fun. And you get to safety check me so we don’t kill everyone or destroy the universe!”

“And if that isn’t the definition of fun, what is,” Perceptor said dryly. He shook his head. “It’d be nearly impossible for Whirl to go unnoticed in the past; you’d need to build him an attention deflector suit like Ravage used or he’d get himself killed by an angry mob.”

“And by ‘you’ you mean ‘we’,” Brainstorm agreed. “Come back next week, buddy, we’ll get right on it!”

“I was actually _not agreeing_ ,” Perceptor pointed out, with the air of a mech was used to losing a lot of stupid arguments.

* * *

Brainstorm had promised the case would take him to an “emotionally resonant moment”, no guarantees which one. Whirl had turned the dial almost all the way to the red, which Brainstorm had helpfully labeled “Long Time Ago”. He hadn’t been sure what to expect. Mostly he’d been expecting the thing to explode and Brainstorm to pop out of the woodwork to give him a PSA on why you shouldn’t ask your friends to make you time machines. He hadn’t expected a war.

He ducked under a sword swing and staggered back, shocked by the sheer _noise_ of it. It looked like Brainstorm’s attention deflector whatsit was working, nobody was swinging at him on purpose. Still, he didn’t want to be accidentally killed either. He transformed and took off, spotting a nearby outcrop of rock where he could spectate.

From that vantage point he could see it wasn’t a war at all. It was the end of a losing battle. There was an army, arrayed in ranks of purple and gold across the field. And then there were the last survivors of some local militia bunched at the center of the mass. Their shieldwall was three bots deep and domed like a forcebubble but it was slowly being crushed between the mass of the army surrounding it. The mechs who hadn’t made it to the retreat to the shieldwall were outnumbered ten to one, poorly armed, and dying quickly.

And Cyclonus was down there somewhere.

It went on for longer than it had any right to. Whirl alternated between pacing and muttering “Just fucking surrender!” at the losing side. He didn’t _like_ routs unless he was on the winning side.

A jet swooped down towards the field and the army pulled back to clear a space for him as he landed and transformed. Finally someone he recognized! And wherever Galvatron was, Cyclonus was sure to be nearby.

Galvatron signaled to his troops - because they were definitely _his troops_ and the fighting stopped. “Defenders of the lower temples!” Galvatron bellowed. His voice seemed to shake the very rocks of the valley. “There will be no victory for you here today! If any of your leaders yet live, let them come forth and bargain for your lives.”

The shieldwall rippled, then broke. They dug their shields into the dirt in front of them, sheathed their swords and brought their lances to rest behind their shields. Two mechs stepped out from the front line. One was tall and slender, with white finials and absurdly pointy shoulders. The other was Cyclonus.

Oh, he looked different, but it was unmistakably him. His frame was a lush velvet blue, except for his arms smeared purple with gore. His bearing was proud, rigid, unforgettable.

Galvatron turned to the white mech. “Your name, soldier.” Whirl had to adjust up the gain on his audials to hear him, the near-silent movements of the crowd increasing like the roar of a river.

“Montalon.”

“I give you a choice, Montalon. Promise me your loyalty. Swear to me your spark and prove your use. If you do this I will spare your soldiers.”

The white mech ground their spear into the ground and answered in defiance. “My only loyalty is to the Lower Temples!”

The point of their spear clattered to the ground as Galvatron struck it down with his axe. Whirl glanced away before the beheading but he couldn’t mistake the sound. When he looked back Galvatron had shifted to point his axe at Cyclonus.

“And you. Is your loyalty also only to the lower temples? You cannot save them. You can still save your soldiers.”

Cyclonus stood silent for one awful moment. He looked to the head of his fellow commander, greying in the dirt at his feet. “Tell me the price, Lord Galvatron, and I will meet it.”

A great wailing rose up from the defeated soldiers behind him. Cyclonus hunched his shoulders, but did not turn to look. One of the soldiers tried to break away, a jet in black and gold, before being hauled back by his fellows.

“Peace, soldiers of the lower temples!” Galvatron called. His soldiers moved to circle them, weapons braced and shields raised. “I offer you mercy, for his sacrifice. Do not waste it.”

Whirl couldn’t tear his optic away from the black and gold jet, held up by three mechs and sobbing in their arms, all military composure gone.

Cyclonus stood like a statue, like an icon of an old god cast upon a plinth. But when Galvatron asked his name he answered in a voice ravaged by grief. First love, perhaps.

“I offer you the same bargain. Become my Warrior Secondus. Prove your worth and then swear to your spark to me, in fealty until death. If you do this I will offer your soldiers mercy, Cyclonus of Upper Tetrahex.”

“Who will I face, and when?” Cyclonus asked.

“You will face me. Now.” Galvatron said, voice warm with mirth.

If he hadn’t been looking so closely Whirl would have missed Cyclonus flinch. “Very well, Lord Galvatron,” Cyclonus said the name like a snake spitting venom. “Arms?”

Galvaton waved dismissively at Cyclonus. “Keep both swords. If you can cut me, the battle ends.”

“Understood.” Cyclonus said.

“Back three paces!” Galvatron bellowed. He raised his axe and dropped the pommel against the ground three times, the ranked soldiers retreating in an answering _stomp-stomp-stomp_. A matched set of guards with tall shields pushed their way to the front, forming a circle to mark the battlefield.

Galvatron hefted his axe and said, “Draw your weapon and attack, Cyclonus of Tetrahex. May you not disappoint me.”

Cyclonus stepped back, then back again, dropping his hands to the sword on his left. Then he was off, springboarding off a shield to swing his sword at the back of Galvatron’s neck. Galvatron moved the haft of his axe to block the cut and the blade rang out, shattering.

Whirl had taken Galvatron’s challenge to be a duel to first cut. He realized his mistake on the first swing of Gavatron’s axe, which caught Cyclonus across the shoulders as he landed. Cyclonus staggered away, broken sword in hand and pink streaming down his back like a cloak. The fight did not end.

It wasn’t that Cyclonus was a poor fighter, though Whirl expected he’d already been beyond exhaustion when the duel started. It was that the blades he was using were fucking useless. Cyclonus landed a stroke across Galvatron’s braced forearms and didn’t make a scratch, though the blade squealed in protest.

“A smart swordfighter never lets his blades grow dull,” Galvatron commented, as he rammed the pommel of his axe against Cyclonus’s helm, knocking him to the ground. Galvatron strode forward and raised his axe to make the final, fatal blow. Cyclonus lay there, releasing both his swords to sink his fingers into the dirt. He looked up at Galvatron and made no plea to stop.

The axe swung down and Cyclonus finally lurched into motion. His legs kicked out, throwing his body onto his side and knocking Galavtron off his feet. The axe buried itself in Cyclonus’s shoulder but his other arm was snapping up to grab Galvatron by the neck and drag him down onto his own axe.

The crowd couldn’t have been quieter if you knocked them all dead.

Galvatron’s knees hit the ground and he wrenched himself upright, revealing a cut half the length of his chest, gushing pink. Galvatron touched his hand to the cut and then took hold of the axe handle. Cyclonus’s left arm lay limp on the ground, the shoulder nearly severed. When Galvatron tore the axe free Cyclonus made his first noise of the fight, a ragged moan.

Whirl had seen corpses in better shape.

But slowly, oh so slowly, Cyclonus raised himself to his knees. Galvatron passed his axe off to some other soldier and took Cyclonus by the chin. “You may prove useful after all, Cyclonus of Upper Tetrahex. Now swear yourself to me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 of CyWhirlWeek :D
> 
> (ignore the gap day, Whirl is in favor of naps and so am I)
> 
> This fic clearly needs a third installment eventually because I accidentally made this one really sad 😬 careful ye who enter here

The oaths were all in Old Cybertronian and they went on an interminably long time. Whirl considered using the dial on his time machine to skip ahead but he still really wanted to know what a Warrior Second actually _was_ and there was a chance that if he touched the dial he’d end up three centuries later and it’d all be over.

When the swearing was all over and done with, Galvatron finally called a medic for Cyclonus. That was apparently the cue for the battlefield to come alive with activity - the able-bodied erecting first a series of triage centers and then one large medic’s tent, the casualties helped or carried towards the medics. They’d all just been bleeding out in the field waiting for Cyclonus to repeat some pretentious sounding oaths back to Galvatron, which was mind-boggling.

Whirl picked his way down towards the camp that was being raised from the backs of the equipment carriers and dropped down by the aerial troops. He wasn’t going to make a nuisance of himself in the medics’ tent; he was pretty sure he could find Cyclonus again just by looking for Galvatron. First he wanted to give Brainstorm’s attention deflector a field test.

He fell in behind Cyclonus’s surviving troops, who were being escorted back towards a mountain ridge, a small settlement carved into its surface in the terraces above. A great stone staircase climbed up towards the terrace buildings; Galvatron’s soldiers stopped a few hundred meters from its base.

“Don’t linger,” one of the escorts warned. “We will take the temples come daybreak. Warn your people and go.”

The soldiers of the Lower Temple regarded their escorts with loathing and fear in equal parts. Nobody responded, though Whirl saw the black jet who had cried for Cyclonus try to say something before being hushed by one of the wounded.

Galvatron’s soldiers turned and left. Whirl hovered in indecision before splitting off to join Cyclonus’s companions. Nobody seemed to notice him, watching their escorts retreat in silence.

“Damn them all,” someone said finally.

“We have to go back for Cyclonus,” the black jet said.

A red helicopter with one arm and mismatched legs put their hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be a fool Serapeum. There’s no going back for him now. You would only get yourself killed and waste his sacrifice.”

“We could sneak in, during the night - ”

“You’re not the only one who cared for him, Sera!” The helicopter snapped. “I would have gladly died rather than consign Montalon _or_ Cyclonus to be Galvatron’s thrall. He did it for the scholars and the citizens, for the people of the Lower Temple, to give them a chance to escape. We have to honor that.”

Whirl wasn’t sure if that was quite true. Sure, if Cyclonus choosing not to die on that battlefield had won a temporary reprieve for his...religious commune or whatever these people were, that probably factored into it. But he suspected a not-so-small part of it was for these 80-odd bots in various states of disrepair, who were now fleeing into exile. His soldiers.

* * *

After he’d seen the refugees over the top of the mountain ridge Whirl took off for the camp, confident that Stormy and Percy’s attention deflector would keep him unnoticed. Cyclonus wasn’t in the medic’s tent, so Whirl made for the center of camp, towards the very fanciest of the temporary structures. The steel plates of the walls slotted neatly into the framework of rails, gleaming black enamel turned red by the sinking sun. There were two guards before the entrance, but they didn’t notice when Whirl slipped past them.

Inside the space was even more cavernous than he’d expected. The walls and roof, even the temporary floor had been enameled a gleaming red, crackling with the light of the fire at the center platform. Galvatron was there at the fire, with Cyclonus kneeling beside him. There was a body on the floor in front of them, their chassis cracked open from shoulder to hip.

As he watched, Galvatron laid his hand on Cy’s helm, his thumb wrapping around the base of one horn. A possessive gesture that Whirl expected Cy to follow with a knife to Galvatron’s optic. No knife appeared. Cyclonus stayed as still as the body on the floor.

“The duties of a Warrior Secondus can be taught,” Galvatron said. “But the loyalty I demand cannot. This was Kitos. He was my Warrior Second before you; he will teach you what you need know most.”

“Lord?” Cyclonus asked. Trying to be polite, but still asking the obvious question: _how’s he supposed to teach anything if he’s dead?_

Galvatron was the one to make a knife appear. He offered it to Cyclonus. “Strip the corpse. I will explain while you work.”

Cyclonus hesitated. “Did he dishonor you, my Lord?”

Galvatron tightened his grip on Cy’s horn, but he did not raise his voice. “No, he did not. Kitos did not need to be taught loyalty, it came to him like fire does to fuel. Needing only a helping hand to set it alight. Take the knife and strip the corpse, Second.”

Cyclonus took the knife and shuffled forward. He laid the knife against their broken chassis, then glanced back at Galvatron, asking for instruction.

To Whirl’s absolute shock, Galvatron knelt down behind Cy and laid his other hand on Cy’s arm, guiding his motions as he pried through the corpse’s outer armor. Each piece was carefully set aside, Galvatron leading him through it.

As Cyclonus worked, Galvatron spoke. “A Warrior Second owns nothing except their loyalty. Their frame exists to serve their lord. Their skills exist to serve their lord. What possessions I give you, are for your service to me. Do you understand, Second?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Cyclonus said, sliding his blade beneath the long plate under the shoulder.

“You will be trained in tactics until I feel you can lead the army in my stead. If I were to be injured in battle _you_ would lead my troops to victory. Do you understand that, Second?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Cyclonus said, lifting the plate into the blackened tray with the others.

“You will be trained with the blade and every other weapon an assassin might wield against me. You keep guard over my person at all times. Are you a light sleeper, Second?”

Cyclonus’s mouth moved, but it took him a moment to force out sound. “Yes, I am. My Lord.”

“That is good. There will be other guards, of course, but you will be the last body between me and the most resourceful of assassins. There have been several. When you sleep, you will sleep in my berth, your blade by your hand.”

“My Lord,” Cyclonus whispered.

“You may have had fears, of what my soldiers would think of your loyalty,” Galvatron continued, unmoved. “They are needless. As long as I have your loyalty, your frame belongs only to me. No one would dare touch you.”

Cyclonus stripped the corpse and Galvatron pontificated, listing a set of duties that oscillated between “impossible honors” and “demeaning with a side of predatory”. Attending war meetings. Acting as secretary. Performing troop reviews. Tasting Galvatron’s food for poison. Learning languages and dialects to translate foreign scholarship. Vetting Galvatron’s lovers. Spying on Galvatron’s spymaster, who Galvatron apparently did not trust. Sharpening his weapons and attending to his bath and polish. As far as Whirl could tell, Galvatron didn’t intend to do _fucking anything_ ever again.

Once the frame was stripped of all its outer plating, Galvatron took the knife back. “Go to the table and fetch me a cup,” he ordered.

Cyclonus brought back what was definitely a _goblet_. He watched as Galvatron pierced the membrane around the dead Second’s spark, allowing some of the innermost energon to drip into the goblet. Galvatron handed the cup back to Cyclonus and then knelt by the body. “I loved Kitos as you should not love a Second. I was soft on him, and that softness was his ruin. He should have lived today and I would not have had cause to spare you.”

Galvatron gathered the body into his arms and then laid it on the fire. The fuel in it flared like a vengeful spirit. Galvatron lifted the tray of dismembered armor parts and laid it on a frame over the fire. Innermost energon burned hot enough to melt even ancient metal. “Have you ever forged a sword?” Galvatron asked.

“No, my Lord,” Cyclonus said.

“I have, many times. I have forged swords of both mechs and weapons. I will forge you, in time. But first, I must forge Kitos for the last. He will become your weapon, in my service beyond death.” Galvatron nodded at the goblet Cyclonus held in his hands. “Drink. And may the fire of his loyalty come alight in your spark.”

* * *

Whirl went back outside the tent and stayed there. It was all getting a bit _much_. Whirl was pretty hardcore, but he wasn’t _that_ hardcore. He watched the moon come out and tried not to taste the ash in the air, but it lay thick. Most of the bodies would have been burned; forged back into the stuff of the world. The guards at the tent didn’t mind having Whirl for company, especially since they didn’t know he was there.

Whirl’s contemplation was disturbed by Galvatron exiting the tent, quite suddenly. He strode out past the guards, then turned back to give them orders. “Thago, with me. Tio, my new Second will not begin guard duties until he has been properly outfitted. You guard him as he will guard me, understood?”

“Yes, Lord Galvatron, sir,” the guard stammered. “Thank you, Lord Galvatron.”

Not _exactly_ as Cyclonus was to guard Galvatron - Tio remained at the entrance of the tent once Galvatron had gone. Whirl waited a few minutes for him to get bored of glancing at the doorway every few seconds and then slipped inside.

The Great Sword caught his attention first, the jewel in the hilt recognizable now as a spark core fused by fire. Whirl shuddered, wondering if all of those swords were as morbid in their creation. The sword lay on a stand on Galvatron’s desk, beside the empty goblet.

Cyclonus lay on the berth, crying.

Whirl went to him, because he always would. “Oh, sweetspark,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Cyclonus startled, looking around, his gaze sliding off Whirl like oil over water. “Who’s there?” He asked, drawing in his legs to curl up into a smaller target.

“A friend,” Whirl promised. He damn hoped Brainstorm had gotten this time travel thing right and he wasn’t going to splinter the timeline. But even if that was the risk, it wasn’t going to stop him from comforting Cy. Not when he looked so young and helpless and afraid.

Cyclonus clenched his hands around his legs. “Are you his ghost? Kitos? I didn’t want to…I don’t know what to do.”

“No, I’m not a ghost. Kitos is gone, he was gone on the battlefield,” Whirl said, trying to be reassuring, remembering that _his_ Cyclonus had never received that reassurance. “You must do as Primus asks each of us. To endure. Survive. You gotta live, kid.”

Cyclonus nodded. “I swore I would, on my honor. And that’s the only thing I have left now, so I guess I have to keep it.” He reached out a hand, not quite towards where Whirl was standing. Whirl shifted to take his hand in claw.

Cyclonus gasped and then started shaking again, laying his other hand over Whirl’s claw. He started to cry again in earnest, silent sobs as he clung to Whirl’s claw like a lifeline. “I want to go home,” Cyclonus confessed, like there was anyone who _wouldn’t_ want to escape this shitshow.

“You and me both, kid.” Whirl said. He told Cyclonus that his people were safe, that they’d fled over the mountain ridge and taken all their books and sacred things with them. He told him that they would keep ahead of the armies and that the Lower Temple would rise again someday. He made up lies because he couldn’t stand to see the kid cry and he didn’t have any way of fixing this.

The moment he changed the dial to go back home this moment would cease to exist and only the true past - where Cyclonus had been left alone, his future burnt up like a corpse in a fire - would remain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW, I KNOW, I'M SORRY


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....there's more!
> 
> I had originally planned for there to be only 3 chapters and Whirl to go back to the present in this one. But then....I wanted to write extremely indulgent bit. So there was a change of plans.
> 
> this is just me, continuing to make up nonsense and make poor Cyclonus miserable. I'm so sorry, Cy.

Whirl had it all planned out. He was going to bail once the kid fell asleep, hopefully before Galvatron got back and wondered why it looked like his new Secondus was clinging to some invisible intruder.

Whirl didn’t really do _regrets_ but once this adventure had stopped being hypothetical he’d started having uncomfortable premonitions of how Cyclonus would respond to knowing Whirl had been here. Poorly, Whirl presumed. Cyclonus did not tend to accept Whirl’s argument that if he was supposed to consider multiple perspectives he ought to have been given two optics.

And yeah, technically he could have bailed at any time. The moment he hit that button there wouldn’t really have been a crying kid to have abandoned. But the thought of doing it made his spark twist uncomfortably. It just felt wrong.

So he was waiting like a sucker when the kid did the only thing that could ruin his neat and tidy getaway plans.

“Please don’t go,” Cyclonus begged.

Well what the fuck was he supposed to say to that?

* * *

“Ok,” he said. “I’ll stay. I promise I’ll stay.” He had a sudden involuntary flashback to Luna I, goading Cyclonus to turn an escape attempt into that first riotous fight together. Whirl had always been good at changing direction. He dropped all the plans he’d been making and started working on new ones.

Plan one: not getting immediately executed by Galvatron upon his return.

“Did Galvatron say when he’s coming back?” Whirl asked.

“Lord Galvatron said he had to see to the,” Cyclonus’s optics flickered over to the sword on the table, “final rites for the soldiers who died. He didn’t say how long that would take.”

“Well let’s assume sooner rather than later,” Whirl said. Especially given how long the kid had been crying on his shoulder. “Do you want to try to escape? Because this is probably our best shot - only two guards outside the door.”

Cyclonus frowned at Whirl. Oh, he was a natural at that. “Escape where?”

“Dunno, out in the wilderness?”

“You’re not a Silver, are you.” It wasn’t an accusation, that was Cyclonus’s _thinking_ voice. “You’re not a spirit guide, you’re a person. One who’s been marked as an oathbreaker.” He ran one hand down Whirl’s claw.

“Is that what empurata means around here?” Whirl caught his mistake a second too late, when Cyclonus’s mouth quirked at the tell.

“Where are you from? You know me, but you don’t know this place. You don’t know even the things everybody knows. And you’re invisible by strange magics.”

“Science, actually. My engineers would never forgive me if I let you think it was magic,” Whirl said. He sighed. Well, if Brainstorm was wrong and Whirl’s actions in this timeline did create another timeline...ah well, subtle was never his strong suit. “I’m your conjunx endura in the future.”

Cyclonus did smile at that, but it was a bitter smile. “Oh, very funny. And what’s your name, Conjunx?”

“Whirl. You don’t believe me, I take it.”

“Time travel…” Cyclonus hesitated. “Maybe. Me, having a conjunx endura? Impossible.”

“You have two, actually. I’m the less likeable one.”

“I assume you’re the funnier one,” Cyclonus agreed, obviously not agreeing. “Well, _Whirl_ , I can’t escape out into the wilderness because there isn’t any ‘wilderness’. Everything belongs to a Lord. The land, the hotspots, the people that come from the hotspots. If I run from Lord Galvatron and he catches me, I’m dead. If I crossed into another Lord’s holdings...well, they’d probably trade me back to him and then I’m dead again. I don’t know enough to be useful as leverage over him and they would all like his favor.”

“Is your lord from before today going to be upset about Galvatron suborning you like this?”

Cyclonus grimaced. “I assume he’s dead, given that Lord Galvatron just marched an army onto his lands. But if he wasn’t, I’d already committed a capital crime when I defected to join the Lower Temple.”

“Ah. In that case, good riddance.” Whirl said. “...I’ll assume there was a good reason.”

“He declared himself an avatar of Primus and started executing everyone who refused to worship him for ‘heresy’,” Cyclonus said. “You really _don’t_ know anything.”

“I told you. I’m from the future.” Whirl regretfully discarded his plan to run off with Cyclonus into the warm summer night. It might be fun, up until the point where he got his conjunx killed in the past. “If you’re not leaving, we gotta get ready for Galvatron to get back.”

Cyclonus was resistant, but Whirl eventually convinced him to try to sleep. “I’ll wake you up when he gets here,” he promised. He ended up sitting beside the berth, one claw tangled up with the hand Cyclonus let dangle over the edge. His back was going to be killing him if he did that too many nights in a row. Whirl adjusted up his audial gain again, listening to the soft noises of Cyclonus in sleep and the guards outside the tent and the fading embers of the camp finally subsiding into sleep.

When he picked up the sharp tread of a large mech approaching the tent entrance, he squeezed Cy’s hand. Cyclonus froze, his internal mechanisms skipping a beat before his optics powered on. He squeezed Whirl’s claw in response, emotion dropping from his face like a ship raising its shields. He let go.

Cyclonus swung his legs over the side of the berth, hands in his lap as he looked towards the entrance of the tent. When Galvatron entered he inclined his head. “My Lord,” he said softly.

Galvatron paused, looked Cyclonus over like a bot encountering a box of puzzle pieces, not sure of the shape they were supposed to make. For the first time, Whirl could detect hesitance on his face. “My Second,” Galvatron replied. “I told you to rest.”

“I sleep lightly,” Cyclonus said.

“You said you did,” Galvatron agreed. He circled around to the berth, thankfully not the side Whirl and Cyclonus were sitting on. He sat down. “Rest. Tomorrow will not be easy.”

Cyclonus tensed, the way any sane person would tense at that kind of ominous statement. Whirl pressed his shoulder up against Cyclonus, his best attempt at silent reassurance.

Everyone slept poorly. Even Galvatron.

* * *

Whirl was beginning to suspect that Cyclonus had picked up the unfortunate habit of never explaining things from Galvatron. He’d certainly seen it modeled often enough, if the past couple hours were an indication of how Galvatron generally acted over the next...million years? Whirl wasn’t sure if Dead Universe time counted like normal time.

The army had marched back to Galvatron’s stronghold, a walled city encircling the still active hotspot of Sansaw Sanserre. The grounders had marched, anyway. The aerial bots had flown ahead. Cyclonus was stuck with the grounders, since that’s where Galvatron was. Not _once_ did Galvatron give a hint about what he’d alluded to the day before. Of course, Cyclonus didn’t ask either. They were both insufferable.

For his part, Whirl had skipped off and stolen a drink from a very perplexed purple grounder. It did seem that small inanimate objects he picked up were absorbed into the attention deflection field whatsit, the bot definitely couldn’t see him as Whirl walked alongside him and emptied his field rations.

Surprisingly tasty stuff, he’d have to ask Cyclonus about it sometime.

He was pretty sure Cyclonus had no idea if he was close by or not unless they were speaking or Whirl touched him; Whirl was trying to build up a tolerance to Galvatron slowly so he didn’t accidentally stab the guy. Still, when he circled back from his stolen lunch Cyclonus had glanced in his direction with that ‘shields up’ frown that meant someone had just hurt his feelings. Whirl stuck a little closer after that.

They did get back to the stronghold eventually, soldiers dispersing into the city streets like they knew where they were going. Presumably they did. Whirl didn’t. He followed Galvatron and Cyclonus into a low stone building that concealed a long stairwell tunneled into the ground beneath them. No guards followed, which was pretty gutsy of Galvatron, given that Cyclonus was already wearing Kitos’s sword across his back.

On the other hand, Galvatron wasn’t the one who’d been chopped to pieces by some great brute with an axe the day before. So maybe not so gutsy.

The stairs entered into a small natural cavern with two pools dug into the ground. The one was filled with a faintly luminescent yellow liquid. The other was filled with what looked to be purple sand.

“If you are my Second, you will bear my colors,” Galvatron said. “A recruit of no particular station could be painted but your loyalty will go deeper than that, will it not? Primus should have forged you to match me,” Galvatron said, laying his hand over the back of Cyclonus’s neck as he led him towards the pool. “We will correct his mistake.”

 _Oh._ So this was the moment Whirl had wanted to see, back when he’d hatched this scheme. Cyclonus losing his perfect, beautiful blue frame. _Galvatron had me changed_ , he’d said. Whirl didn’t want to see it anymore.

Galvatron nodded at the yellow pool. “It will kill the living metal, open up the surface so the color of your plating leeches out. Then we will bury you in the pigment until your plating absorbs it.”

Cyclonus shuddered.

“Don’t submerge your face,” Galvatron said. “I will have to wash that carefully, given this obvious design flaw.” He poked at the hole through Cyclonus’s cheek.

Cyclonus said, “Of course.” Like that was a normal request.

Cyclonus handed off the sword. Galvatron hung it from the wall, alongside his axe. Then he took a pair of gauntlets from a chest beneath the stairs and pulled them on, the metal white as magnesium flare.

Cyclonus walked into the pool and let Galvatron guide him to lay back, his head supported by one of Galvatron’s gauntleted hands. The liquid fizzed and bubbled, surface churning like there was a swarm of scraplets beneath the surface. Cyclonus gasped and Galvatron made a soothing noise. “That’s right. You’re doing very good, my Second,” he murmured.

Galvatron dipped his hand into the liquid. He stroked his wet hand along Cyclonus’s face, ignoring as Cy shook under him like a mech overloading on circuit speeders. “Very brave, very good.” His voice had gone all soft, like he was taming a turbofox and not torturing someone.

Galvatron repeated the motion, using his hand to wash Cyclonus’s face and helm in the vile stuff. Cyclonus had dissolved into soft, hurt sounds and Whirl’s legs were starting to hurt where his claws were digging into them. The turbofox analogy wouldn’t shake from his mind as Galvatron petted at Cyclonus’s helm.

Even in the dim yellow light of the chamber, Whirl could see the color bleach from Cyclonus’s frame. The effect was slow at first, the effect streaky. Galvatron tutted and dipped his hand back into the pool, washing again the places where the color clung the longest.

Cyclonus stilled finally, quieting. It was only the red of his optics that told Whirl he wasn’t dead. The time between then and when Galvatron, finally satisfied, lifted him from the pool was unbearable. When he did, all of Cyclonus had bleached that horrible white magnesium-fire of the gauntlets.

Galvatron carried him to the bed of purple sand and laid him gently in it. Then he began brushing the sand over his frame, burying him. “I was too harsh on you yesterday,” Galvatron said. “You will never _replace_ Kitos, but I believe you may be a worthy successor. You impress me, Cyclonus Secondus.”

He laid one hand over Cyclonus’s mouth as he heaped the sand over his face, leaving nothing else uncovered. At last he stood, and went to the chest to remove the gauntlets. “I will come for you when you are ready,” Galvatron promised, before ascending the stairs back into the light.

**Author's Note:**

> As always with my one-day ficlets, there's probably typos and grammar things I missed (feel free to point me at any mistakes you notice)
> 
> As always, I love comments and you can find me online @notwhelmedyet. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed 💕


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